


Attention

by williamastankova



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alana helps him realise, Desperation, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Hannibal Lecter in Love, Hannibal beats himself up, LITERALLY, M/M, Will Graham is Clueless, just an idea i had
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 18:24:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17513621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/williamastankova/pseuds/williamastankova
Summary: In which Hannibal finds he'd go to great lengths to capture Will Graham's eye, even if in the end it's really not so complicated.





	Attention

He doesn't think he's ever felt so petulant in his entire life. Utterly juvenile, he is, but he just can't stop himself. Something about having Will focused solely on him, helping him, listening to him, opening up to him... it's like a drug. And, continuing the analogy, he's the addict, living with a needle in his arm. Only, more recently, he's been forced to go cold turkey, and he's not coping well at all with it.

At first, he despised it. He couldn't admit to himself that he, Doctor Hannibal Lecter, was upset that he couldn't see Will. Sure, it'd happened before, where Will was working late or not feeling too well, and he'd miss their scheduled appointment, but this time was different. This time, he'd showed up for their appointment, but was now missing - seemingly avoiding - every chance to spend time with him, just to be with him. Hannibal had frowned, and busied himself making notes of the patients he'd had in the day, but soon enough the papers ran out and he was left once more in the emptiness of his surroundings.

Gradually, the situation had grown more dire. Figuring Jack had something to do with it, Hannibal had decided at some point that the best way to have Will visit him was to stage a gruesome crime, and then be the only source of knowledge - a tap, running with fresh, cool water in the boiling hot desert of the FBI, who couldn't see a murderer if he sat with them and helped them solve their crimes. Then, he concluded, Will would realise how much he missed Hannibal, and he'd begin seeing him more often.

This didn't work.

As planned, the case brought Will to his doorstep, and he offered very useful insight to the killing (well, killings; he'd gone a little overboard), and Will's face lit up like a grim little boy on Christmas Day. He thanked Hannibal, and he'd reported back to Jack, and they believed they'd solved the case. They hadn't, but who was Hannibal to tell them that? His job was done, and now all he had to do was sit back and wait for Will to call again, or drop by, or something - anything.

Hours passed, then days. Once a work week had gone by, Hannibal grew worried. A knot of something unsettling set in his stomach, taking root in the lining of it like a zygote to the womb wall, and surely it grew. What it developed into was a full-blown issue, a problem that felt too big for him to solve, and he found himself at a loss for actions and words for the first time in his life. He could always call Will and express how he'd missed him, missed his company, his scent, his warmth, but there wasn't any way he could do that.

**

Not being willing to display any sort of weakness, he hatched another plan. A wonderful plan, he thought, and so he set on it almost immediately. With great precision and care, he began beating himself up - not mentally, but literally, physically throwing himself around his office, bringing books off of shelves and sending papers sky-high, all for the sake of one Will Graham.

Once he was fairly happy with his handiwork (aka he's given himself a solid nosebleed, and he wasn't quite willing to risk a concussion, at least not yet), he called Will's mobile and reported the incident.  
"Will," he said, when the other line picked up and the younger man answered, "I- I'm sorry to inconvenience you, but there's been an incident at my office-"

The other man interrupted him, asking what had happened, voice rather concerned, and unusually awake. Hannibal nodded to what he said, though he couldn't see him, and continued, "Yes, there was an attack - no, I don't need an ambulance, but there's nobody here, and I'd like to patch myself up."

Will made a sound that Hannibal couldn't quite decide whether it was of frustration or pity, and then he said a short, "okay", and told him to wait a short while. Then, he ended the call, and Hannibal put the phone down and settled himself with a wet cloth, dabbing his face just enough to leave the stains of blood visible.

There was no way Will was going to leave him alone now, not after something like this. Maybe it was a little deceptive. It could even be construed - misconstrued - as a manipulative way to have Will see him, to have him worry constantly to the point where he couldn't even consider leaving him for more than an hour. Then again, Hannibal didn't care. All he wanted was to see Will and, not fifteen minutes after hanging up the phone call, he heard the familiar sound of shoes approaching his door, and he smiled to himself.

"It's open," he called out, accentuating his croaky voice to sound more desperate, "Come on in."

He looked dramatically down to his feet as he heard the door being slid open. The footsteps approached him slowly, and then a hand was on his shoulder. He'd always longed for Will to touch him, as Hannibal did him. Now, he was finally getting to know what it was like. He was finally alone with Will, and not for a case - not necessarily, anyway. He sucked in a breath, realising the reality of the situation, and then someone spoke.

"Are you feeling alright, Hannibal?"

Jack.  
Jack Crawford.  
Jack 'not-Will-Graham' Crawford.

Hannibal almost kicked himself, in the most literal sense. Checking his ears weren't fooling him, he looked up at the figure beside him, and sure enough there was the agent. Clad in his usual suit, aesthetic the same and decidedly not Will, Hannibal let out a more-than-audible groan in disbelief and slumped forward. He didn't have to feign feeling awful now, at least.

"Okay, okay." Jack said soothingly, and knelt to be beside him. He examined his eyes quickly, and, upon seeing the bruising and blood emerging from his nostril, left to find some sort of first-aid to work with. When he returned, Hannibal couldn't look at him as he held his own head and let himself be bandaged up.

"Where's Will?" He couldn't stop himself asking. This question earned a pause from Jack, who looked at him with his mouth ajar, and then he closed it and began his work once more.  
"Still at work," Jack explained vaguely, and then moved on to his own cause. "Who did this to you, Doctor Lecter?"

Hannibal shook his head. What was the point in formulating a lie, or incriminating somebody he'd loathed for a long time? He simply opted for the response of, "I don't know. It was all a blur."

Jack nodded, but Hannibal knew his questioning was only over for the time being. He longed to throw himself head-first into all of his belongings, his expensive plates most of all, in the hopes he wouldn't have to deal with the simultaneous presence of Jack, aching feeling throughout his body, and the absence of Will at his side. He knew the third hurt him the most of all.

**

Following the failed attempt to win Will back, Hannibal fell into a fit of madness. His viewpoints shifted, and he wanted nothing more than to be left alone by the man. In actuality, he knew this was far from the truth, but it felt better to have himself believe, as opposed to that the man he had once shared everything with no longer wanted to see him. So, he plunged back into killing, and restocking his fridge for a later date.

That later date, it seemed, came in the form of one of his infamous dinner parties, in which he served all of his best meat, in the most fancy recipes he'd ever learned to prepare. This time, however, he'd decided to have it low-key, which was why he'd only invited a few of his closest acquaintances, such as Alana, Jack, Bedelia, and the Unnamed, Not-Guest-of-Honour Graham.

Whilst everybody took their seats, he prepared their drinks and his short toast. They settled, and he stood, clearing his throat, and began:  
"Friends," he almost faltered, but managed to maintain his voice, "I hope you and I will celebrate tonight, in the wake of a new dawn. Here," he raised his glass, and smiled charasmatically, "to more crimes, criminals, and those who assist them."

He tried his best to avoid looking at Will, but had no idea how well he'd managed to. They all raised their glasses and a cacophony of different pitches of 'clink's filled the room, and then silence as everybody sipped. He took his seat at the head of the table, only to have his eating interrupted by Jack, who stood and took to make his own toast.

"And, if I might add," he chuckled, "to our special agent, Will, who's worked ever so dilligently for us this year, and who I hope I'll have as a friend for the longest time." He cast a look down at the subject, who smiled humbly, and the group had another 'cheers' to him. Hannibal, ever the gentleman, naturally joined in, but held his glass lower than the rest and even he could see how his face dropped, his smile falsified.

Apparently undisturbed, the party goers all began eating, murmuring noises to indicate they enjoyed the food, and a low chatter started. Hannibal sat quietly, still staring off at nowhere in particular, but caught Alana Bloom's eye when he finally snapped out of his haze. She had been watching him, her mouth straight and eyes bordering on pitiful. Hannibal loathed it.

He shot her his best, most convincing smile, and then avoided any more eye contact with her throughout the meal.

**

Afterwards, they all slowly filtered out into the living area, where they found seats beside who they wanted to talk to for the remainder of the evening. Jack sat beside Bedelia, which was somehow obvious and surprising to Hannibal, and the others sat together, on couches across from each other. Will sat beside Alana, and a pang thrummed through Hannibal's chest.

 _Of course_ , he couldn't help but think. _That's why I haven't seen him. Perhaps he's finally gotten his chance with Doctor Bloom._

Solemnly, but careful not to draw attention to himself, Hannibal withdrew from the room and returned to the kitchen, where he pretended to organise something or other, but in reality he was doing nothing. When he finally admitted this fact, he settled with leaning over the sink, resting on his arms, and shutting his eyes, sighing with exhaustion. Not of lack of sleep, but lack of overall energy.

Hosting usually sent a thrill through him, unlike any other sensation. He adored being the center of attention, but it didn't feel like he was anymore. After all, what were the casual smiles of peers when the one that really mattered refused to talk to you, if not to use and abuse your mind to benefit his own case? Not very much, he resigned, as he forced himself to turn around.

Caught off guard, he all but jumped out of his skin when he saw somebody standing in the doorway, looking at him. It took a surprising amount of time for him to realise who it was, and even then his mind was only confirmed he wasn't dreaming when the man spoke.

"Lovely party, Hannibal," Will said, voice calm but admittedly quieter than usual.  
"Thank you, Will." He tried to act normally, and stood up straighter, regaining his tall posture. "I'm glad you're having a good time."

It felt stilted. It was so wrong of them to be like this, given everything they'd shared - everything they'd been through - since their first meeting. Hannibal despised, more than anything, how he deeply suspected things may never be the same again, and it was quite possibly his own fault. It was only after this thought that he realised he hadn't been smiling, hadn't been looking welcome, and so he made up for this mistake.

Will took a moment, then crossed the room to lean against the sink beside him. He too faced the doorway, as though expecting a third person to walk in. When none came, Hannibal dared to cast a look over to Will, where he lingered for longer than anticipated. Will looked... guilty. Not sad, not dangerous, but guilty.

"How are the others?" Hannibal didn't want the conversation to drop off, to die, because it might have been their last one, and that would stain their entire memories. Their final words being pleasantries was better than there being no final words at all.

"Good, good, I think," Will shook his head, clearly unsure why he answered so promptly.  
Hannibal's heart skipped a beat. "And Alana?"

Will looked over at him, and he panicked when he felt he had been caught. Like a child with his hand caught in the cookie jar, he should have immediately tried to pretend nothing had happened, but he didn't. He couldn't, and he wouldn't, because it had. He continued to look at Will, whose eyes scoured his face yet settled somewhere behind him.  
"You could have called."

Hannibal knew somebody had spoken to Will. He didn't know who, and he knew he didn't have the time to figure out just who yet, but he made a mental note to later on, when he had escaped this situation. There was, he concluded, no point in lying, so he said, "So could have you."

Will let himself break into a shadow of a smile, but even this looked timid. Hannibal's heart ached, and for a brief moment he considered he'd gone into some state of cardiac arrest, because it wasn't ever meant to be like this. When did it get like this, exactly?

"I'm sorry," Will stopped him with a firm shake of his head when he tried to interrupt, "I'm sorry that you felt you had to beat yourself up. I'm sorry you think I don't want to speak to you, because I do. I'm just busy, you know? It gets hard to pick up the phone, sometimes. But I should - I should always make time for you. You always do it for me."

Hannibal pondered upon several different sentences, all some variation on 'it's my job', but that didn't seem quite truthful enough. He remained silent as he looked on at Will, whose gaze had returned to him, only now not his eyes. Rather, if Hannibal wasn't delusional, he was staring openly at his lips. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, he swallowed, searching for something to say, but eventually gave up and mirrored Will.

In a rather familiar turn of events, Hannibal sighed, releasing all inhibition, and stretched out a hand to brush Will's hair and face tentatively with. Maybe Will would never touch him back like this, but that was okay. As long as he got to hold Will, cup his face, to watch him like this, he'd never feel like a loser.

He tried to pretend he didn't feel how Will leaned into his touch. He tried to blame his overactive, whirring mind for imagining such things that could never be in real life, but when one of Will's hands reached up to clutch onto his back, there was no pretending anymore. Will was here, and he was doing it, and - oh, was this happening?

Hannibal found himself leaning into Will, testing how far the younger man would let him go, and only when their lips were a mere inch or two apart did he appreciate Will's warmth, and how the grip he had on his back had tightened with their increasing proximity. With one look cast back up to Will's eyes, checking this was still okay, this was still what they both wanted, Hannibal granted himself permission to kiss him, and he did.

Slowly at first, sweeter than honey, but then more desperate. Not lustily, rather a kiss more full of their frustrations of the times they could have done this, but refrained. Hannibal hadn't ever thought a kiss could be _sad_  whilst being so relieving, yet here he was. Cupping Will's other cheek with his free hand, he pulled him in closer and adored the feeling of Will letting him do so.

If asked, Hannibal couldn't give a straight answer as to how long they kissed for. His best estimate would have been however long it took the oxygen between them to turn sour, so how long it took for parting to be absolutely necessary. As he pulled back, Hannibal's mouth tilted up at the corners, and Will gave him a happy look, but one that was also riddled with 'why are you looking like that?'. Hannibal took it upon himself to explain; he owed him that much, at least.

"Alana Bloom," he stated, "she knew, didn't she?"  
Will chuckled and nodded in concurrence. "She threatened me to get my act together about you, if that's what you mean. Yes."

Hannibal smirked, "How long ago?"  
"About five minutes or so."

Hannibal cast a look back at the doorway, half-expecting the woman to be there as their audience, but found nothing. He spoke absently, but meant what he said.

"Good old Doctor Bloom," he said, voice sounding somewhat dreamy, then he turned back to look Will in the eyes. "Always setting us on the right path."

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! feel free to leave any suggestions for future fics in the comments :)


End file.
